


the lowest acceptance rate

by parayeet



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, But light angst, Crack, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, asian-american culture, kind of?, taeyong is just confused and overwhelmed by (a) the college process and (b) doyoung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parayeet/pseuds/parayeet
Summary: "I wrote about Doyoung in one of my Stanford essays, you know," Taeyong says, and Johnny laughs in disbelief."Homosexuality isn't a hook," Johnny says. "There is no affirmative action for sad gays.""Shut up," Taeyong huffs. "I wasn't lusting after him or anything. You think my college counselor would let me write a love letter to his neck and submit that as part of my application?""He does have a nice neck," Johnny agrees.---aka dotae as over-achieving asian-american hs seniors trying to navigate the college process and love
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 43
Kudos: 252





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> lol i just finished the college process and i kind of want to write a reflection piece on it but doyoung is always on my mind so we have this mess. this is based on my own hs experience... i went to a hyper-competitive private school so. i hope this isn't too pretentious LOL
> 
> i guess for background what you need to know is that there are two rounds of college decisions in the us: you either find out in december or in march if you got in. it's technically more complicated than that but this explanation will do for now

"The goddamn biology exam," Taeyong says, when Doyoung peers at him. Taeyong's phone is out, and he's flicking through his online flashcards on Quizlet.

"You've been studying all week."

"I think I could sweep by with a 90 at this point," Taeyong admits. "But I'm nearing an A- in the class, and that could lower my GPA. Not that it matters at this point but you know." And Doyoung does know. Both of them were deferred early action to Yale, meaning they had to wait until _March_ and not December for the results to come out... and a deferral during the early round to Yale was practically equivalent to a rejection. Funneling that heartbreak into obsessive studying habits was a coping mechanism of sorts.

"It wasn't that bad," Doyoung reassures him. "I took it first period. You're taking it fourth, right?"

"Memorized my schedule? Sounds like you're obsessed with me." Taeyong jokes, but Doyoung takes it seriously: Doyoung looks deep into his eyes and smiles and says _yes._ His genuineness is startling. It's times like these when Taeyong wonders if he even had a chance of fighting against it—why did he even bother trying to swallow down these feelings, these feelings about what it would feel like to be with Doyoung, to actually _be with him—_ it's been half a year, and Doyoung still makes Taeyong feel like he's drowning and the seawater tastes like a miracle.

Johnny must read into the expressions that flicker across his face because the moment Doyoung leaves, Johnny interrupts Taeyong's thoughts and offers to read through the flashcards with him. Johnny wants to distract him. It's kind of funny because, at the start of all this, at the start of Taeyong's feelings—Johnny would be the first person to tease him, to laugh at him and poke fun about his crush, but eventually that cheer soured into a pity of sorts, when Taeyong's yearning strengthened yet Doyoung looked at him no different. It just wasn't funny anymore.

"It's okay," Taeyong says, at last. "There's only ten minutes of lunch left anyway. How have you been?"

"Tired," Johnny confesses. "It's nothing in particular. My parents have been surprisingly calm and, like, not as micro-manage-y as usual. I don't think it's stress. I just feel heavy, I guess. And jealous of all the people already in, definitely."

At this, he glares over at Doyoung's table, at the other end of the cafeteria. Doyoung's... best friend? Pet? _Jungwoo_ was already committed to Penn in December and senioritis subsequently hit him early—Taeyong has seen him napping on three seperate occasions, all of them in class. Johnny, on the other hand, was straight-up rejected in the early rounds, despite how everyone claimed that he was a shoo-in for Brown. He still had fifteen-plus applications to write. It wasn't a stretch to say that Johnny was bitter.

Even from afar, they could see Jungwoo... maybe mimicking the teachers? His impression of Mr. Barbaro was impressive. Or perhaps coming up with a parody song, or another one of his parlor tricks, and Doyoung was laughing so hard his body folded up into himself, his shoulders shaking. He had nice shoulders. They were... broad. And dependable.

"Jungwoo's gay, isn't he," Taeyong murmurs. "Wasn't he dating that junior last year? Lucas?"

"That's pan erasure," Johnny says.

"Gay is an umbrella term," Taeyong argues, but he sighs. "I'm just saying... Doyoung and him. They're both gay."

Johnny raises an eyebrow.

"They can still just be friends. I mean, we're gay and I would _never_ date you."

"But you've thought of it before," Taeyong guesses and, to his satisfaction, Johnny pales.

"You just have..." He begins weakly, and then gestures vaguely. " _That_ face."

"I do have a face," Taeyong says, pretending not to understand.

"Why are you so worried about Doyoung then?" Johnny demands, and then looks a bit regretful. It's really a testament to how tired Johnny is that he lost his self-control like that—generally, Johnny is far too gentle to make any mention of Taeyong's unrequited love. Nonetheless, Johnny steels himself and continues: "I think you should confess. Even if he doesn't reciprocate, knowing for certain that he's not interested would help you get over it."

"I wrote about him in one of my Stanford essays, you know." Johnny looks at him and then laughs in disbelief.

"Homosexuality isn't a hook," Johnny says. "There is no affirmative action for sad gays."

"Shut up," Taeyong huffs. "I wasn't lusting after him or anything. You think my college counselor would let me write a love letter to his neck and submit that as part of my application?"

"He does have a nice neck," Johnny agrees, and Taeyong moves the pasta around his plate with his fork, then stares at his food.

"I wrote about him for the _letter to your future roommate_ essay. I talked about sleeping in the same hotel room with Doyoung when we went to the Science Olympiad overnight invitationals. I actually wrote about how soft he looked in his sleep clothes, and the fondness I felt for him in that very moment—about the shower running in the background, and his over-sized white t-shirt, and what it's like to be in the same space with someone you treasure. I deleted that Word document real quick, though," he backtracks, but Johnny is staring at him with a strange sort of recognition in his eyes.

"What?" Taeyong says, defensively.

"I don't know why I didn't see this before," Johnny mutters, more to himself than Taeyong. _See what,_ Taeyong wants to ask, but Johnny cuts off his train of thought—there's a serious look in his eyes when Johnny places his hands square on Taeyong's shoulders, and Taeyong has to force himself to not flinch from the harshness. There's an intensity in his expression that Taeyong rarely sees; only when Johnny swims does he look anything similar, with his gaze narrowed at the edge of the pool water, body poised as if ready to soar.

"We're going to make Doyoung fall in love with you," Johnny proclaims, and the floor falls out from beneath Taeyong's feet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haechan is president of Asian-American Club, Yuta is a mathematical guru, and Taeyong is complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all of nct 127 are seniors. yes, haechan and taeil are the same age. also, various appearances from my gg biases afoot!

Taeyong looks at Johnny in confusion.

"Weren't you just saying that I need to get over him?" Taeyong asks, suspicious. And before that, Johnny was hesitant to even bring his crush to the forefront, content to let that angst bubble beneath the surface of their every conversation about boys. Johnny was a pro at ignoring things that Taeyong was discomfited by, so the idea of Johnny being okay with—no, not even—the idea of Johnny _encouraging_ Taeyong's flights of fancy came out of left field. It was unheard of. "Literally, five minutes ago, you were spouting some shit about getting over my feelings."

"I changed my mind," Johnny says, loftily. He wiggles his eyebrows. "Just let me pull some strings in the background," Johnny assures him. "And Doyoung will be fawning all over you in no time."

Before Taeyong can argue—what strings could he pull, anyway; that already raised some red flags—the bell rang, and lunch was over.

Fuck, the bio exam.

Taeyong hurriedly scurried off, with Johnny calling out _good luck_ behind him. He bumped into Doyoung near the trashcan and it was not a romantic scene, both of them cleaning off the leftover food on their plates into the compost bin, but Doyoung's warm encouragement, a quiet _You've got this,_ so intimate in the crowd of bodies, made Taeyong's skin curl up anyway. Taeyong was distinctly reminded of the running of the shower, the over-sized t-shirt, back when they slept in the same room... even outside a place like home, Doyoung—in a denim jacket this time, draped handsomely on his shoulders, and amidst the loud chatter of the student populace—even then, Taeyong felt as if he was coveting something precious. Doyoung just smiled so gracefully.

—-

Taeyong ends up stewing over Johnny's cryptic allusions to _pulling some strings_ when he's supposed to be thinking about cell communication. His hand are sweating, the wetness bleeding into the paper, and Taeyong feels _so gross_ and he still has no fucking clue if it's A or C.

He skips to the long-answer section, now drawing intricate diagrams of the cell signaling pathway: reception → transduction → response. Briefly, he considers the metaphorical possibilities—oh, he was becoming one of _those_ poets, wasn't he? Extrapolating meaning from the utterly mundane... but Taeyong couldn't help it, not when Doyoung was in his mind's eye, easy and willing. When Doyoung touched his elbow, it was funny to think about all the cellular processes taking place, at a molecular, even _atomic_ level, but all Taeyong could acknowledge was a shock of electricity. Or was that too cheesy?

His diagram is now nearing textbook levels of complexity—an impressive showcase of his artistic skills, but absolutely worthless otherwise; Mr. Barbaro doesn't give extra credit for drawing mastery. He quickly moves onto the next question. In the end, he succeeds in doubling-down on the rest of the questions, writing fast enough for his handwriting to slant and his hand to hurt, but even then he ends up randomly circling a letter on a multiple-choice question, ultimately out of time.

Guessing at one question was a big deal. There were only fifteen questions on that test, total. God, he hopes the curve is insane.

As he hands in his test paper to Mr. Barbaro, he feels a bit hysterical. He definitely had time to puzzle out that multiple-choice, if only he wasn't so distracted by his musings on Doyoung's touch in the beginning. His gay angst was literally going to lower his grades. Maybe the evangelicals were onto something... maybe homosexuals _weren't_ productive members of society.

He makes himself laugh at that notion, but otherwise spends his next period zoned out in the back of math class, gradually boiling over the implications of these... these _feelings._ Even in the period after that—last period, English class—he stares off into space as the teacher drones on about fucking Willa Cather or something. He actually hasn't even opened the book _My Ántonia_ yet, but that usually doesn't stop him from raising his hand and going on long tirades about, like, the weight of responsibility of immigrant children. Participation points and all that. He does that bullshit daily, usually.

His English teacher looks over at him in concern, confused by his sudden quiet demeanor, but otherwise leaves him alone; Johnny, similarly, on his seat to the right, examines him carefully. Ever the perceptive type, Johnny makes no mention of Taeyong's weirdness, instead opting to chat gleefully about how _My Ántonia_ is absolute shit as they walk together back to the lockers. Taeyong's mood lifts as they disparage the book—again, Taeyong has not read _a single page_ yet—and he feels himself settle back into normalcy. The hysteria from before had faded, and Taeyong's struck by a surge of gratefulness for Johnny. How does he know how to perfectly handle every emotional situation?

Taeyong puts away his textbooks, then looks up. Johnny has disappeared, and Doyoung is leaning on the locker next to him. His bangs fall gently over his forehead, and it's straight out of a coming-of-age 80's movie.

"You're going to AAC right?" Doyoung asks. "Walk with me there?" Taeyong kind of just... stares up at him, from his place on the floor, hands frozen in the air, _Campbell Biology_ textbook hovering. "Johnny suggested it," Doyoung insists, defensively. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "But I wanted to, anyway."

Taeyong zips up his backpack and holds out his hand; Doyoung grins, grips it, then helps him up. As they make their way to the math room, they aggressively compare their answers on the long-answer section of bio exam. Still, Taeyong is happy, even if their conversation stays firmly within the boundaries of classmates and acquaintances and kind-of-friends.

When they enter the classroom, Haechan—the all-important Asian-American Club president—is making a Tiktok. Unfortunately, he's actually very good at dancing, but that doesn't stop Doyoung.

"Stop doing the woah and set up the food," Doyoung snaps.

"Not every Tiktok dance is the woah, boomer." Haechan rolls his eyes and renegades. "I'm not viral yet so why don't you set up the shrimp chips, Vice-y?" Doyoung legitimately _reddens_ at the nickname—clearly, he's still bitter about how Haechan managed to score more votes than him in the election, mostly by way of actually _talking_ to the freshmen instead of scaring them.

Nevertheless, Doyoung, ever the responsible type, pours up the shrimp chips neatly into a big glass bowl while they squabble: Doyoung worries over Haechan's sleep schedule, but Haechan interprets it to mean that he looks tired and ugly, and Haechan is _sorry that I was getting in Twitter fights at 3 AM over how Bernie was the ideal Democrat nominee—what activism work have_ you _done lately, Vice-y?_

It's stupid because they're just arguing, but Taeyong feels really... empty, kind of, watching them fight in their own little world. Doyoung's like that, drawing people in, trapping them in his startling mixture of sweet grace and barbed humor. Taeyong's all too familiar with getting caught up in Doyoung's _Doyoung-ness,_ but a sick thread of jealousy slithers around the bumps and grooves in his brain—he wants a slice of Doyoung's attention, and the possessiveness overwhelms him. He doesn't just hate Haechan, in that moment; he hates _both of them,_ for leaving him alone, for— _It's irrational,_ Taeyong reminds himself, and the hatred turns inward for being... _too clingy,_ right? What gives him the right to want to... to want Doyoung all to himself.

Doyoung and Haechan continue to squabble, but now about _healthcare_ like it's fucking speech and debate _and Taeyong knows both of them are on the same side anyway;_ Haechan's just playing Devil's advocate to wring new colors out of Doyoung's rapidly purpling face—Taeyong considers pointing that out but awkwardly, Taeyong's mouth stays shut, unsure of how to insert himself into their conversation.

"What's up, whores?" Yuta enters with a bang. "And Doyoung," he acquieses, at Doyoung's pointed glare. Yuta looks around worriedly. "Jungwoo's not here, is he?"

"He's white, Yuta," Yeri says from behind him. "He's not allowed in."

"Oh, makes sense," Yuta agrees easily but Doyoung, sick of Yeri's nonsense, explains that Jungwoo is actually out with Nayeon. Yuta's nostrils flare, and Taeyong quickly slings his arm around Yuta's shoulder, then guides him to sit at the large oval table.

Yuta and Jungwoo and Nayeon have some weird fucking love-hate tension going on, a messy triangle that Taeyong has yet to untangle. Their melodrama actually split up the original Asian-American-boys lunch table into two parts—Taeyong still bemoans the fact that Doyoung used to sit four seats away at lunch and, when he wore his tight turtlenecks, Taeyong got to stare at the daist (Doyoung's waist) for half an hour straight. Then, something happened, and only out of politeness does Taeyong refuse to sit Yuta down and demand to know the details. All he knows is that there was a blow-up, and then suddenly he had to choose, with Yuta being his oldest friend and the obvious choice. Regretfully, more people chose Jungwoo, and Taeyong knew that gnawed at Yuta's conscience—and Taeyong's too, because Yuta was fucking awesome and that was so unfair. Only Johnny and Taeyong moved with Yuta to the other side of the cafeteria, with Mark alternating between the two tables for the past month. The nine of them still talk during class and after school, of course, but Taeyong's sick of it. It's already December, a week from winter break, but Yuta and Jungwoo are still avoiding each other.

"Where were you at lunch, anyway?" Taeyong asks.

"I didn't feel like going to school."

"That's so..." Taeyong rubs at his eyes. "That's so annoying."

"Already committed, sucker." Yuta sticks his tongue out because he's a _child,_ then mimes kicking a soccer ball. "Go Beavers!" Next, he tilts to the side, grabbing the backpack from beneath his chair, and takes out his laptop. "More importantly, Johnny told me." Yuta opens his laptop and then pulls up an Excel spreadsheet. There are numbers everywhere.

“What is that?”

“Data analytics on Doyoung,” Yuta says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “See?” He points to a column titled _Person_ and then one titled _Number of Smiles._

“Haechan usually scores seven per hour, all of them reluctant.” Yuta then points to another column. “But he fares much better in the tension section.” The spreadsheet cell contains a _61_.

"What," Taeyong says, flatly.

“Showing signs of stress—that is, scowling and the gnashing of teeth—can allude to at least _some_ interest," Yuta explains patiently. "A fine line between hate and love and all that, yes?"

"No, no," Taeyong says. "That's not what I was asking about. When I said what, I meant more like _what the fuck."_ Taeyong puts his head into his hands. " _This_ is what Johnny meant when he said that he's going to pull some strings in the background?" Taeyong points a finger at Yuta accusatoringly; Yuta goes cross-eyed. "Just because you took AP Stats _does not mean_ you're suddenly, like, what? A mathematical guru?"

"So..." Yuta says, nervous. "You don't want to look at the spreadsheet?"

Wordlessly, Taeyong sighs and then pulls the laptop toward him, face inches away from the screen. "I still think it's creepy," he warns Yuta, gruffly, but traces his finger down the column of _Number of Smiles_ and stops at the row _Jungwoo._

"Two-hundred-and-seventy-four," Taeyong breathes out, then slumps over.

"Doyoung just won't stop smiling," Yuta affirms, gently patting Taeyong's back. "But you're still not in the spreadsheet yet... Just strike up a conversation with Doyoung during this meeting, okay? Try to make it last fifteen-some minutes, then I'll multiply the rate over to _smiles-per-hour._ " Yuta pats Taeyong's head. "Don't give up hope yet, bro."

Taeyong sinks further into his seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to update this story every other day, probably. look forward to the next installment on monday! currently, my projections say six chapters total.
> 
> thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting! seriously, your comments keep me going... special thanks to user bystander for motivating me to pump out more words today lol


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> doyoung and taeyong get closer! + allusions to drama in the future...

"Everyone shut up," Doyoung intones from the head of the table and everyone quiets down quickly, especially the freshmen.

"Okay, so this is only our second meeting," Haechan says. "And, yeah, fine, I know we're already three months into the school year. That's on us, guys." Haechan waves his laser pointer lazily at Doyoung. "Apologize, Doyoung."

"Yeah, sorry about that—"

"Not good enough," Haechan says. "Stand up and bow." Doyoung looks vaguely murderous and remains firmly seated. Some of the freshmen laugh awkwardly.

"Just get to the point," Lua demands.

"You got it, queen." Haechan highlights the words _Asian-American Issues_ with his laser pointer. "So, after Winter break, we booked a spot during morning announcements to talk about Asian-American issues that we think the school population should be aware of. We have ten minutes so we can probably only hit two key issues if we want to prioritize depth. Both Doyoung and I think that talking about the model minority myth should be one of the two."

"However, Haechan wants to also talk about America's history of anti-Asian discrimination—like Japanese internment camps, San Francisco school segregation, and the like," Doyoung says. "While I think that covering the current inequities in media representation and also leadership positions is more important. Third options are also welcome. What do you all think?"

Wheein's hand shoots up.

"Yes, Wheein?" Doyoung asks, pleased about the participation.

"As a wuh-luh-wuh—"

"Just say sapphic," Yeri interrupts.

" _As a wuh-luh-wuh,_ " Wheein repeats, louder. "I'm with Haechan on this."

"How are those two things even related?" Doyoung demands.

"Gay-lesbian solidarity, duh."

"I'm gay too," Doyoung says slowly, as if he's explaining something very simple to a child.

"Yeah, but I don't want to solidare with you." Wheein and Haechan high-five at this, over Doyoung's protestations of _that's not how it works_ and _solidare isn't even a word._

Eventually, after half an hour of chaotic squabbling, they settle the argument with a vote, and it's a close call but Haechan's idea proves more popular. And before Taeyong can go over to console Doyoung, who appears a bit petulant that Haechan won the most votes again, they split up into groups of eight, with two members from each grade, and play Pictionary together within those groups. Taeyong ends up kind-of befriending Renjun, a Junior who delights in poking holes in everyone's ego, much to Yuta's dismay.

The club meeting ends late at around five-forty and Taeyong _still_ hasn't talked to Doyoung, too busy trying to puzzle out whatever the fuck that Lua kid was drawing.

"We can collect data another time," Yuta says, forlorn.

\---

 **Johnny:** Hey is aac over yet

**Taeyong:** yeah now it is

 **Taeyong:** lol doyoung and haechan wouldnt stop arguing in the beginning

 **Taeyong:** anyway whats up

**Johnny:** meet me at MLK+T at six?

**Taeyong:** im tireddd

 **Taeyong:** and i need to study for midterms bro

**Johnny:** I kinda want to rant about smth tho lol

 **Johnny:** Ill pay even

**Taeyong:** ok fine

 **Taeyong:** im gonna buy a LARGE

**Johnny:** Sounds good lmao

\---

When Taeyong entered MLK+T, Johnny was nowhere to seen. In his place, Doyoung's fluffy hair crops up in Taeyong's line of sight, black waves peeking out from the paneling of the closest booth, right by the window overlooking the street.

This distinctly feels like a set-up and, when Doyoung waves him over, his fears are confirmed.

"Have you seen Johnny?" Doyoung asks, cheeks puffing out around a straw. His drink's distinct purple hue suggests taro and Taeyong makes a quick mental note of Doyoung's choice flavor.

Taeyong shakes his head, and then Doyoung's phone _pings._ Doyoung picks his phone up and then puffs out his cheeks into a pout. It is so devastatingly cute that Taeyong has to literally grip the edge of the table to keep himself from shaking.

"Johnny forgot he had tutoring," Doyoung explains, then frowns. "It's kind of weird, though. Johnny's usually super reliable about this type of thing…"

"It's probably the stress," Taeyong interjects smoothly. Before he can talk himself out of it, he sits down in the booth, across from Doyoung. Kind of like a date. "All those applications are rotting his brain."

"Don't remind me," Doyoung laughs, and then tilts his head. Again, Taeyong has to grip at the table. "Um, this might sound a bit weird but…" Doyoung giggles nervously, and takes a long sip of his drink. "I mean, it's just kind of funny that, like. We don't hang out? Outside of school, I mean, and, like, in a small group, or even just the two of us. I didn't notice it until… until the whole Jungwoo-Yuta situation, that we only see each other either in school or as a whole-friend-group-thing."

Taeyong stares at him in shock—Was Doyoung… wishing to get closer to him? Is this a _dream?_

Silence stretches out between them, awkward. Doyoung's expression shutters, and he starts chattering fast, a bit hysterical: "You don't, like, hate me, right? Is that stupid to ask? Like, do you only put up with me because I'm friends with your friends, or… I know I probably sound like an insecure nutcase right now but I'm just trying to be honest, I guess, and like… I don't know. I don't want to regret my senior year… I want to make connections because it might be the last I see of everyone."

Taeyong actually _coos_ at this and desperately wants to squish Doyoung's cheeks together. "You're so _sentimental,"_ Taeyong says, fondly, but Doyoung must've misinterpreted his words as mocking, because Doyoung's cheeks go splotchy; he hurriedly gathers up his wallet and receipt and drink from the table, muttering something about him being _so embarrassing_ , but before he can leave, Taeyong grabs at his sweatshirt sleeve, urging Doyoung to sit back down, which he does, albeit reluctantly, face still pink.

"I feel the same," Taeyong reassures him, and Doyoung smiles so wide that Taeyong's heart _aches._ "We really should talk more."

And Taeyong doesn't have the words right now, not really, but later he'll think back on this moment, and reflect on Doyoung's unique brand of bravery: Even when Taeyong wants Doyoung more than Doyoung wants him, it's Doyoung that reaches out. It's always Doyoung that lays out his feelings, so bare and vulnerable.

Later, when Taeyong runs away, he'll re-think his definition of courage. Not only knights in shining armor; there's more to courage than defeating an evil. That is, even in the absence of injustice, bravery exists in the small pockets of people willing to love with no expectation of anything in return. Perhaps Doyoung has yet to spar with a fire-breathing dragon, but… Bravery is Doyoung laying his heart bare, with no guarantee that Taeyong will reciprocate, and letting his emotions sing nonetheless. Overcoming the natural fear of rejection, again and again.

For now, Taeyong has not run away, so he'll think little of this moment, other than feeling grateful that Doyoung would like to become closer friends. Doyoung accompanies Taeyong through the line, and they talk about nothing in particular—about the substitute's low-key racist remarks that no one had the gall to call out, and about how _Knives Out_ was such a good movie _, you've got to watch it, Taeyong_. Eventually, when they sit back down at the booth, with Taeyong awaiting his black milk tea… like most conversations in December, all roads lead to the college process.

"I was deferred from Yale," Doyoung says, as if Taeyong didn't already know.

Immediately after Taeyong opened his deferral letter, he texted Jaehyun to learn about Doyoung's results. Taeyong felt bad about it, but a tiny piece of him felt gratified that Doyoung didn't get in either… Taeyong was with Haechan at the time of opening his decisions, and he didn't know if he could handle it again: Taeyong staring blankly at his screen, while Haechan jumped up and hollered wildly, accepted into Penn.

"So now I'm thinking if wasting my early action on Yale was the wrong choice," Doyoung continues. "Applying to Yale early meant that I couldn't apply to any other private schools early. That was a sacrifice I was willing to make back then, since Yale's early action acceptance rate is so much higher than their acceptance rate during the regular round. Which is a weird concept but whatever, I'll play their game, right?" Doyoung takes a long sip of his practically empty drink, seemingly deep in thought, then shakes his head. "Anyway, now I'm regretting not using my early ticket on Penn instead. Maybe then I'd actually be in college at this point instead of having to write six more fucking essays on top of preparing for midterms."

"Isn't that still, like, a 20% acceptance rate?" Taeyong points out. "Even if Penn's technically easier to get in than Yale."

"The counselor says that, according to the Naviance data from the past four years, it's a 50% at our school. We're basically a feeder school, or whatever they call it."

"Really?" Taeyong gasps.

Then, his name gets called out. Taeyong walks over to the counter and picks up his black milk tea. When he's walking back, Taeyong wonders if _he_ should've applied early to Penn instead of Yale. His college counselor was sick of seeing his face by now; Taeyong's perfectionism could be frustrating, he'd admit, but he simply couldn't live with himself if his essays weren't excellent.

Honestly, despite all of the counselors' preaching about how all colleges were good colleges, Taeyong would be so ashamed to end up at his safety. That was probably elitist, right?

But did his counselors even believe in what they were saying? How could they spew this shit about how _all_ colleges offered great educations, when their school published statistics about how so-and-so many students got into the top twenty schools that year? Getting students into selective colleges was, like, a central tenet of the school's advertising.

"I feel like our school really messes up our perceptions of college," Taeyong says, sliding back into the booth. "I was talking to Mr. Barbaro about this, like, after school one day and he said that around 70% of _all_ high schoolers in 2019 went to college. Going to college was never really a question for me. It was always expected."

"Sure," Doyoung says. "I get that we should be grateful for where we're at and, like, still be happy even if our college results don't work out. I totally understand where they're coming from. But for me…" Doyoung frowns. "Well, almost all of our teachers are white, right? And not immigrants either, or even just first-generation Americans. For me, I feel like I _need_ to get into a super prestigious or whatever school because… My parents worked really hard, right? We're pretty well-off, honestly—okay, fine, to be blunt, we're rich. And they've tried so fucking hard to give me so many opportunities."

"Right," Taeyong agrees. "How can we reconcile both the gratefulness for being in a position of privilege, while also juggling the pressure of making the most out of our parent's sacrifices?"

"That's the million-dollar question," Doyoung affirms, then smiles softly, a bit amused. "That was actually really fucking eloquent."

"Ah." Taeyong's face burns. "I sometimes write poetry. I do those spoken-word-slam-poetry things."

"Like Sarah Kay?"

"You know Sarah Kay?"

"Yeah, of course," Doyoung laughs. "I used to watch a lot of TED talks." Doyoung then checks his phone and makes a face. "I have to get home now."

"Strict parents?"

"No, no." Doyoung looks a little bashful. "I write a schedule for myself, like, every morning and I _hate_ when I don't stick to it. I'm supposed to be writing essays at home by seven." Taeyong smiles helplessly; he finds Doyoung's uptightness _so endearing_ it scares him. Doyoung grabs his belongings from the table and slips on his coat. "We should hang out more?" Doyoung asks, hopeful.

"Definitely," Taeyong agrees.

"And actually hang out," Doyoung continues. "Not just say we're going to hang out, and then never talk outside of school again."

"Yeah, yeah." Taeyong makes a shoo-ing motion at him. "I'll text you. Go be productive!" Doyoung looks satisfied, then hurries out the door. Taeyong feels every bit the K-drama protagonist, leaning against the window—it's actually snowing lightly now, even—and watching his love interest part. The tail end of Doyoung's black duffle coat flaps in the December wind; he can hear the IU. Taeyong _knows_ there's a forlorn expression decorating his own face, but he doesn't care.

_Doyoung wants to talk to him more._

Taeyong can't stop _grinning_. He lets himself do a little dance.

"Seventy-two," a voice calls out from beside him. Taeyong immediately whips around.

" _Yuta?!"_ Yuta Nakamoto, decked out in head-to-toe camouflage, smiles back at him through the holes of his ski mask. "God, I'm going crazy. How did I not notice you?"

"My disguise is impeccable," Yuta declares, then slides into Taeyong's booth, curling up in the seat like a cat.

"You look like you're about to rob me," Taeyong snaps. "Take off the ski mask at least." Yuta obediently whips it off, although mumbling all the while. His hair falls messily around his face, held back in a ponytail by a camo-colored hairband. "Why do you even own so much camo stuff?"

"Your rate clocks in at seventy-two smiles per hour," Yuta says, blatantly ignoring Taeyong's question. "Sorry, but you're losing to Jungwoo."

"I'm _not_ losing," Taeyong huffs. "Weren't you listening? Me and Doyoung were making _connections._ "

"I'm not a _stalker,_ " Yuta sniffs. He points to the air pods in his ears. "I just intensely observe Doyoung's facial expressions, that's all."

"Whatever you say." Arguing with Yuta was the conversational equivalent of rolling a rock up an endless hill. "The point is that Doyoung and I were bonding over the Asian-American experience. Is there anything more romantic?"

"Paris, roses, Valentine's Day, Taylor Swift—"

"Not Taylor Swift anymore," Taeyong interrupts. " _1989_ was her last good album."

"I _knew_ you were anti-women." Before Taeyong can protest, Yuta grabs at Taeyong's sleeve and drags him out of the booth. Taeyong lets him because, well, Yuta was kind of cute, if you ignored the fact that he was also a dumbass. Like a small, whiny kitten. "Come over and let's binge-watch something."

"I have _midterms._ "

"So do I?"

"Yeah, but you're already in college."

"I'm going to fight Yale one day."

"You and me both."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i hope this update wasnt too boring lmao but they're getting together (kind of) next chapter! was the college n first-gen stuff too much? idk. anyway, i feel like i write male characters badly bc i only had female friendships during hs...
> 
> OKAY ENOUGH NEGATIVITY! i hope yall enjoy this update and thank u for reading, kudos-ing + commenting! a gentle reminder that comments keep me going lol the update will be on thurs


	4. Chapter 4

After that meeting at MLK+T, Doyoung and Taeyong only grow closer in the following week before winter break. They make plans to meet up again outside of school, and even if they spend all of those hang-outs studying for midterms instead of talking to one another, Taeyong can feel the walls around Doyoung begin to crack.

It wasn't that Doyoung was aloof before; rather, Doyoung liked to _bicker_ and it wasn't until their third out-of-school hang-out that Doyoung finally felt comfortable enough to curse Taeyong out.

Taeyong was more than happy to rise to the challenge; his friendship with Yuta was similarly antagonistic, but it was fun to be the "crazy" one for once—Taeyong would say some bullshit, and then Doyoung would have that worn-out look on his face, sighing melodramatically. It was cute as hell.

At the beginning of lunch, Doyoung would stick by Taeyong's table for longer and longer periods of time, to the point of which they had a fifteen-minute argument on whether or not Percy Jackson inspired the Odyssey or vice versa—with Taeyong insisting that Rick Riordan was the blueprint, while Doyoung hissed out that _the Odyssey was written in, like, the eighth century BC, you dumb fuck._ Only after Jungwoo called out Doyoung's name did Doyoung return back to his usual lunch table, finally setting his plate down and eating. These petty arguments lifted Taeyong's mood considerably and, once Doyoung left, there would always be a perpetual grin plastered across his face… at least until he caught a glimpse of Johnny's expression, so disarmingly smug that Taeyong instinctively felt his haunches raise.

"What?" Taeyong demanded once.

"I'm just reveling in my victory," Johnny said. "I'm the greatest cupid."

"You really owe him one," Yuta agreed. "And me too!"

"For what? Stalking Doyoung?"

"I wasn't stalking him," Yuta sniffed. "Think of me like National Geographic. Do you see the lions accusing those scientists of stalking them?"

" _Lions can't speak, Yuta._ "

"Excuses, excuses."

Eventually, midterms were upon them—but that also meant two more days until winter break. Taeyong really hauled ass and met with his college counselor a dozen or so times before then, and he ended up with sixteen down and two more applications left to write—Vanderbilt and MIT. Vanderbilt was bearable; MIT, on the other hand, had six fucking short-answer questions.

The teachers took it easy on them, at least, probably pitying how overworked the seniors were, and Taeyong welcomed the pity. The Econ teacher literally just said fuck it and had no exam at all. Math was still a headache and eigenvalues made Taeyong want to sob, but Doyoung proved to be an excellent teacher, patiently working through the problem sets with him.

As such, Taeyong felt that he did reasonably well on the midterms and, afterward, Taeyong and Doyoung hung out by the locker area, ranting together about how confusing the audio samples for Spanish were. Yuta was with them, lying on the ground and watching _Killing Eve_ on his phone, but then Jungwoo showed up to clean out his locker… while Yuta _mysteriously_ disappeared.

Taeyong wished Jungwoo a great winter break; Doyoung hugged Jungwoo too, which was difficult to watch. Jungwoo gave Doyoung a gift and Taeyong was left to stand awkwardly to the side as Doyoung wiped away his tears, smiling beautifully at the cute stuffed alpaca.

He should've gotten Doyoung a gift too, shouldn't he? Taeyong felt like such an idiot. But then again, what would he even get Doyoung? Apparently, the alpaca was Doyoung's favorite animal, but Taeyong didn't know that… Jungwoo did, though; he was childhood friends with Doyoung after all… how was Taeyong supposed to compete with that?

Jungwoo thankfully left quickly after that; Taeyong and Doyoung were alone, finally. Doyoung grabbed Taeyong's wrist to lead him to the couches in the Students Commons area, and they both flopped down. Doyoung's hand, regretfully, let go of Taeyong's, but they were close enough that Taeyong could feel Doyoung's body heat. Doyoung's scent also bled through the air between them, a cologne both sweet and coarse. Almost like vanilla.

They kind of just relaxed there for a while, in companionable silence, both scrolling through their phones. Yuta already sent a dozen different selfies on Snapchat, clingy even before winter break properly started. Meanwhile, Johnny just sent a black screen— _streaks._ Everyone's stories were really fun: videos of them laughing with their friends, or already on an airplane, flying toward some tropical vacation. Taeyong, on the other hand, had to go into his research lab during the break. But at least the grad students were cool.

Taeyong chanced a sideways glance at Doyoung. Doyoung's brows were furrowed, pinching his face together. Like an aggravated rabbit. He was _so_ cute, especially in those thin-wire circle glasses. Doyoung didn't bother styling his hair that day, so his bangs fell straight and flat in a natural middle part. Doyoung's side profile was, in one word, _soft:_ the gentle slope of his nose, the fullness of his cheeks… his jaw, even, was curved so kindly, like the rise and fall of a meadow. Dreamy, unbearably so.

Doyoung was so pretty that Taeyong _ached._

"What are you staring at?" Doyoung asked, deceptively casual. Taeyong shot up, back ramrod-straight, and then he could feel his face heat up. Doyoung was looking at him now, a touch amused, eyes glimmering in the yellow light.

Taeyong felt a little light-headed; Doyoung's voice was… warm, so warm. And he smelled of fresh vanilla. In any other situation, Taeyong would've played it off—Giggled, joked around, respond with _your ugly face_ or something equally light-hearted. But this was not any other situation, for Doyoung and Taeyong were finally friends and becoming closer by the day, and midterms were finally over, the cloud of stress was lifted, and… and they were alone, the planes of Doyoung's devastatingly striking face outlined by a wash of warm light.

It was the kind of scenario that comes once in a blue moon; the kind Taeyong could just relax and _sink into._

"You," Taeyong ended up saying—only he didn't say it, he sort of _breathed_ it out. Whispered, like a sermon, a prayer.

Doyoung's face tilted forward, maybe to hear Taeyong better, whose voice suddenly lost its thunder, swept up in delicate feeling. The vanilla strengthened. Taeyong let himself entertain the possibility… that Doyoung, perhaps, wanted to kiss him. His eyelids heavy over his eyes, expression a picture-perfect portrayal of serenity.

In the end, it was Taeyong who backed away. He wasn't sure why; he was only aware of the crash between his ears. That white, white noise echoed in his head and, just like that, the walls closed in. He couldn't feel his lungs. The fight-or-flight switch went red and flipped on.

"So… did you finish your applications yet?" Taeyong escaped, leaning back on his elbows as he subtly moved over to the farther side of the couch. _Did Doyoung look a little disappointed?_ There was a crease, right next to his mouth.

Taeyong dared to hope but, in an instant, the crease smoothed out and Doyoung's easy-going smile returned in full force.

"All done except one," Doyoung said. "I've still got UChicago."

"The uncommon essay?"

"That's the one." Doyoung clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I still can't choose the topic. What did you write about?"

"I chose _what can actually be divided by zero,_ " Taeyong said. "It was kind of basic, in all honesty, but I wrote about… nothingness, in the metaphorical sense. And how things are changing so fast."

"It sounds profound." The corner of Doyoung's mouth is curled up, and Taeyong is struck by how fond he looks, in that instant. "My little poet." And then Doyoung barreled on, to his next sentence, as if he didn't just call Taeyong _his,_ and subsequently ruined Taeyong's brain in the process. "Do you ever just think about… how things could turn out _really, really bad?"_

"What do you mean?"

"Like, beyond the college process. I guess I thought that college would be a light at the end of the tunnel for me. Like, a golden fleece, almost, a goal to _strive_ for. But I don't feel excited at all."

"Why don't you?" Taeyong is floored. For so long, he had yearned for college as a way to—get out, for one thing, and maybe even publish his fucking poems for once, which were all filled to the brim with gay yearning, and had no place under his family's roof. To actually see his work on the Internet, for everyone to see and appreciate and _connect with,_ without the fear of his father running into his name slapped atop of an ode to Doyoung's gorgeous, dangerous hands. He wanted the independence so badly, he could feel it in his _bones_ —a desperation like no other; a hunger for freedom so formidable it rivaled a monster's appetite. "But college is so… you'll get to take the classes that you want, Doyoung, and you get to do the things you want and you'll meet so many new people, people who think the same as you, and people who like the same stuff that you do."

"I'm glad that you're excited, at least," Doyoung acquiesces, but Taeyong is intent on pushing this point, wishing to wipe the look of consternation off Doyoung's face.

"Doyoung, it'll be so good," Taeyong insists. "It'll just be so good. You're away from your family for once, right? And then you'll have room to breathe, and—there's just so many things to look forward to, Doyoung."

"I just can't feel that way, Taeyong, it's alright." But it's not alright, because Doyoung is not hopeful, and Taeyong's optimism is the only constant in his life, and Taeyong needs Doyoung to _believe_ in a life after the high school rat race of college applications and frustrating extracurriculars, Taeyong needs Doyoung to believe—

" I don't understand this," he says, "I just want you to be happy, I don't know how else to put it, and it hurts—Do you really not feel hopeful about your college life after, not at all?"

"Dude, I'm depressed," Doyoung says, and he laughs a little, awkward all of a sudden. "I don't… I don't look forward to things."

After that declaration, the rest of the evening passes in a blur—Taeyong's phone rang, he's sure of that, and his mother was outside, waiting to pick him up, so he left Doyoung, who was still on the couch, and alone.

There is something bubbling in his chest, a red-hot something, like magma sloshing around inside his guts. He feels really out of place, for pushing Doyoung on that point, because—He feels so stupid, because he could've just let Doyoung's comment slide, he could've let Doyoung believe in whatever he believed in, but _no,_ his happy-go-lucky ass was confident that he could _help_ Doyoung, is that what it was? That Taeyong was so naïve that he thought he could change Doyoung's fucking endorphin levels or something? That Taeyong was so… caught up in himself that he couldn't imagine a world where people thought differently than he did?

At least Doyoung doesn't hate him. Taeyong had fired off a text, saying sorry for being weird and pushing, and Doyoung reassured him that it was _totally okay lol_ _literally relax_.

But when Taeyong is lying on his bed, ready to fall asleep, he finally realizes _why_ he was so embarrassed by his optimistic insistence: Taeyong _didn't know_ that Doyoung was depressed _._ Mental health was such a big part of people's lives and yet Taeyong _didn't know._ That topic came up within the first few interactions he had with Mark—It was late at night, and they were texting back and forth, and Mark ranted about how his parents still couldn't say the word _depression_ out loud, even when they were with his therapist. Like depression was a Bloody Mary type of specter, one that only appears when called on, instead of a consistent fixture in Mark's life.

Taeyong looks up at the yellow-green glow of the plastic stars on his ceiling. The stars looked so sickly, so diseased, and Taeyong felt the same—there was a bit of something rising at the back of his throat, something disgusting, surely.

It was a realization, he recognized. A realization that Doyoung and Taeyong had gotten closer, but Doyoung still never talked about himself; Doyoung never confided in Taeyong about his personal problems. Taeyong would reveal little things about himself, like the fact that he felt like he deserved none of his successes—little Big Things that made up the intricacies in his psyche. But Doyoung never, ever returned the favor; he just hummed and listened and Taeyong never thought much of it until now. There was so much that Taeyong didn't know about Doyoung, and the lack of knowledge had its own kind of weight, heavy and discomforting. Was there a lack of trust on Doyoung's part? Was Doyoung afraid of letting Taeyong too close? Or, even worse, was Taeyong in the wrong for wanting to know at all… did he deserve to know these things, in the first place? Was he selfish for wanting to know everything about Doyoung, to be able to map out his mind with the exquisite detail of an expert cartographer… to fucking _colonize_ it, in a way. He wanted all of Doyoung's secrets, even. What did that _mean?_

It was like the thing with Jungwoo again—where Jungwoo had gifted Doyoung a stuffed alpaca, and Taeyong was left to stand on the sidelines, ignorant that Doyoung loved alpacas. It was like that situation, but the severity had compounded tenfold, a hundredfold. Taeyong thought he knocked down Doyoung's walls, only to find a moat around the boy's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's late lmao sorry also THEY WILL GET TOGETHER THE NEXT CHAPTER IM SORRY


	5. Chapter 5

A week into winter break, Taeyong has still not texted Doyoung back. Ever since their last exchange, where Taeyong _didn't know that Doyoung was depressed,_ there was this prickling sensation that crawled up his spine, that struck whenever he unlocked his phone and looked at Doyoung's contact.

Doyoung wanted to see a movie together, a Christmas one. Doyoung wanted to get Japanese food together, at the local restaurant by their elementary school. Doyoung wanted to know if _tae, are u ok??? i hope everything is alright._

Taeyong wanted to text Doyoung back, but every day he pushed it off to the next. There was this paralysis that consumed him, every time he wanted to reach out—his unease from their last conversation had yet to dissipate, and only strengthened. He was afraid of fucking up again, and pushing Doyoung, and making Doyoung uncomfortable a second time. And he didn't want to feel locked out again either, staring enviously from behind a glass wall as people like—people like fucking _Jungwoo_ knew things about Doyoung, and Doyoung was willing to give them that knowledge. Jungwoo got to know the Big things, while Taeyong was handed the scraps of Doyoung's attention—clever banter and biology facts, but never anything personal.

There was so much bitterness inside of Taeyong, it made him physically sick. Weren't you supposed to become a better person out of love? Love was supposed to change you, soften you up like butter. Melt you into warmth. But his love for Doyoung only made him… afraid and angry and possessive. He thought cruel thoughts, the kind of thoughts that made him feel guilty all over.

In the mornings, he took showers, hot ones, and when the steam rose, blurring all the glass white, he imagined himself wiped clean, both inside and out. Then, he'd drive to the local university, blasting loud rap—Rico Nasty, the kind of in-your-face aggression that felt oddly liberating. Within the research lab, he'd throw himself into his work. It was a welcome distraction. If the grad students were surprised by his out-of-character diligence, they did not say anything.

It was just Taeyong and his cell colonies. He worked on his manuscript too.

But something shifted, that week. Something profound. There was no catalyst, not really. While listening to his mentor explain antibiotic delivery systems or whatever the fuck, Taeyong was suddenly overwhelmed with the sense that he was _losing_ something. Perhaps Taeyong's love embittered him, but it was also healing in select instances. When Doyoung praised his writing, he felt full, indescribably full. Like he was actually a complete person for once, and not just a jumble of interests and thoughts, but someone with a purpose.

Taeyong excused himself, feigning a bathroom break, escaping outside to call Yuta.

"Who is this?"

"Dude, my name is in your fucking phone."

"But aren't you dead? Unless—oh my god, are you his _ghost?_ "

Taeyong rolled his eyes. "Quit it, Yuta. Sorry for not calling you earlier. I was… weird." Taeyong offered no further explanation and Yuta did not ask for one, because for all of Yuta's meddling, he was a surprisingly perceptive friend. "Is it normal, to feel like this?"

"I'm not a mind reader Taeyong, elaborate."

"I'm just… I feel so _unsteady,_ " Taeyong confessed. "I feel things one minute, and then it changes, and then it flip-flops again. I don't know how else to explain it. I just feel… there's so much _happening_ inside of me. And contradictory shit too. As in… I loved Doyoung, right? And then I hated him, but still kind of loved him, and now I'm back. Back to wanting him."

"I don't know." Yuta sounds contemplative. "Well, I've never been in love in the first place, so I can't tell you how, like, _love_ is supposed to feel like. It is love, right?"

"Yes?" Taeyong guesses. "But it's not just the Doyoung thing. I've been feeling bitter, too. And hating everything, like I'm thirteen and emo all over again."

"At least you don't hate me," Yuta jokes, but Taeyong… Taeyong _does,_ sometimes.

He confesses as much. "I do, though," he says, quietly. "Sometimes, I imagine never talking to my high school friends ever again. And like living my best life with my college friends. Because—it's weird, because I usually hate change. But maybe I just hate the little changes… I'm in love with the big change. Like, in the movies, when the hero moves across the country."

Yuta doesn't seem too bothered by Taeyong's revelation, just hums thoughtfully, and Taeyong admires him for it. He doesn't know how he'd handle it if he was in Yuta's place, and Yuta told him that he hated Taeyong sometimes. Taeyong's affection towards Yuta expands in him, like a hot air balloon—and there it is again. These conflicting feelings. Now, Taeyong can't imagine why he'd ever want to leave Yuta.

"Maybe it's the stress," Yuta suggests. "It'll probably be better after all of this." Taeyong hopes it will be. It's been so confusing lately.

"Anyway, I want to text Doyoung back now. That's what I called you for. He, like, double-texted me. Or thirteen-texted me, whatever. And I still didn't respond, and I have no idea how to apologize."

"You wasted my efforts. I spent all that time trying to bring you two closer, and you distanced yourself?"

"I was _weird,_ " Taeyong whines. "Just help me, please."

"Honestly, I'd lie. Say that you like… Were super sick, or something."

"I was in Johnny's story, though. Like this Tuesday lunch."

"Why don't you get lunch with me?"

"You work on the other side of the campus, dude. If you switch labs, we'll get lunch."

"Whatever." Yuta huffs. "Say like… You got your phone taken away. You, like, never post on your own Snapchat story, or on Instagram, so it's believable, right?"

"Yeah, hm… Yeah! Like, my mom wanted me to concentrate finishing my applications or something, and I was procrastinating, and my parents are strict so they took it away."

"Does Doyoung know your parents are actually _super_ chill?"

"He has no idea. I think we can go the immigrant-parents-route." Taeyong feels giddy all over again. He really wants to take Doyoung up on the movie thing. It would be like a date. "Yuta, thanks so much. I'm gonna text him now."

"Go and get him," Yuta says and then hangs up.

 _omg doyoung,_ he types, and then a series of crying face emojis. _dude my mom took my phone away im so sorry she was like mad that i still havent finished my mit app—_ more crying face emojis—and then, _when do u wanna see that movie?_

Doyoung usually texts back immediately, so Taeyong becomes worried when his phone remains disappointingly silent, all throughout his day in lab. He checks on it every ten minutes practically, but no notifications have popped up.

In the university parking lot, he impulsively decides to DM Doyoung on Instagram too, just in case. Like, what if Doyoung got his phone taken away or something, and he had to rely on, like, Instagram on his laptop to talk to people? Weirder things have happened. But then—

Taeyong immediately calls Yuta.

"He blocked me," Taeyong says, his voice blank. "On Instagram. Literally what the fuck."

"Bro, you ghosted him for a week," Yuta says which is true but Yuta didn't have to _say_ that _._ Not that it's fair to get mad at Yuta, Taeyong reminds himself. Unless…

"Yuta, what if he knew I was lying!" Taeyong rests his head on the steering wheel, suddenly so very tired. "Oh my _god._ That's what I get for listening to you. I should've told the fucking truth, oh my _god._ "

"Bro, calm down—" Yuta says, and Taeyong _hates_ being told to calm down, when he is justifiably upset; like, what, Yuta says that shit and suddenly he's cured? Taeyong hangs up, right then and there, before feeling guilty and calling Yuta again seconds later.

"I have to _see him._ "

"Well, there's school—"

"There's still _two weeks left,_ " Taeyong bemoans. "I can't wait that long!"

"He blocked you, Taeyong! On every platform, probably. Your texts won't be going through, and you don't go to the same parties either—"

"We _used to,_ " Taeyong hisses, and then his eyes widen. "Yuta fix your shit with Jungwoo! Then we can hang out as like a big friend group again! Like your Christmas party last year!"

"I don't want to," Yuta whines. "I was in the mall with Mark yesterday and we saw Jungwoo and Nayeon at the Shake Shack and it was so awkward. And that was, like, only seeing him for a second, before we ran away."

"Literally what even _happened—_ "

"I don't want to talk about it," Yuta says, lowly. And he sounds so serious, unusually so, that Taeyong drops his line of questioning immediately.

"Just throw the party," Taeyong insists. "You wouldn't even have to talk to him."

"If there's only going to be nine of us, I'm going to have to talk to him."

"Then invite more people, I don't know! It's not like Doyoung would go to any other party besides yours, he's too much of a homebody."

"Why can't you ask Johnny? Doyoung's friends with him too."

"Bro, Johnny's parents would never let him throw a party. Yours are chill!"

"Why can't _you_ throw a party then?"

"Doyoung wouldn't show up, dumbass. I need to like—draw him out, subtly. Just throw a party, come on. It'll be fun. You love parties!"

"I like intimate get-togethers," Yuta sniffs. "Not parties. Plus, it's not as simple as you're making it out to be. I need to specially curate a playlist and plan the food and—Fuck, I do love intimate get-togethers."

"See? You'll get to make people watch _Parasite,_ and then talk about behind-the-scenes fun facts and impress people with your movie knowledge."

"I know _so much,"_ Yuta whimpers. "Like, it was originally titled _The Décalcomanie,_ to represent the parallels between the rich and the poor families. Is that not deep as fuck?"

"That's deep as fuck," Taeyong agrees. "Don't you want to tell _everyone_ that?"

"I'll throw the party," Yuta says, resigned. "I mean, the intimate get-together. Just keep Jungwoo thirty feet away from me at all times."

\---

For all of Yuta's griping, he is incredibly enthusiastic with his party-planning. He makes a pro-and-con list about what kind of snacks he wants to buy, creates four kinds of guacamole for both Johnny and Taeyong to taste-test and fill out a complicated-looking review sheet, then lights a dozen candles in strategic locations to best envelop the musty basement in a vanilla scent. Taeyong is suddenly reminded that, for all of Yuta's craziness, he's actually a methodical guy. No wonder MIT had accepted him in the early rounds, Taeyong thinks, and then feels moody again. He couldn't _wait_ for this applying-to-college-thing to be over.

That Saturday, an hour before the party, Yuta sends Taeyong and Johnny to get the snacks. They end up arriving a little late, because Johnny had recognized a Marc's employee from a cross country meet; Johnny and Yves caught up while Taeyong hovered awkwardly by Johnny's side, scrolling through the Applying To College subreddit. God, Johnny was so popular it sickened him sometimes. In the end, they exchanged numbers, which made Taeyong raise an eyebrow and Johnny reddened at the scrutiny, but admitted that it'd be nice to date someone who was also bi.

Yuta is hiding in the garage when they arrived, pointing an accusatory finger at Taeyong when Johnny pulls into the driveway.

"You were supposed to _protect me,_ " Yuta hisses. "I had to fucking let Jungwoo in. I was _inches_ away from him. We were face-to-face."

Taeyong shrugs apologetically. "Where's everyone now?"

"They're watching _Parasite,_ " Yuta says. "Jungwoo is too, and I'm _dying_ to dish out my facts." Yuta glares at Taeyong petulantly. "You _promised_ me."

"Johnny can distract him," Taeyong says, then pushes Johnny inside. "Don't look at me like that, Johnny, you know you want to talk to him anyways, you fucking extravert. I'll get the snacks in." _And then corner Doyoung,_ he thinks to himself.

Johnny successfully leads Jungwoo up the stairs, and they joke with one another over Yuta's guacamole in the dining room. Taeyong nods at Yuta, and Yuta scurries quickly across the first floor and runs down to the basement.

Next, Yuta is supposed to push Doyoung up the stairs, demanding him to get them all guacamole and chips or something. Doyoung predictably acquiesces—because he's such a fucking sweetheart, Taeyong's brain unhelpfully supplies—and Taeyong accosts him in the kitchen.

"Doyoung," he says, and then wraps his hands around one of Doyoung's. Doyoung had first looked very much like a deer in headlights, and now he trembles a bit at the touch, eyes flitting about nervously. God, what was Taeyong thinking? How could he ever had given Doyoung up, when he looks like _this_ : his features are so delicate, like an elf's, and his eyes are so bright and round beneath his glasses. Taeyong wants to fucking wrap him up in a blanket or something, to keep him warm and protected. "Can we—can we talk? Upstairs, I mean, Yuta has a guest bedroom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry everyone but they will ACTUALLY be getting together in the next update LMAO i know i keep dragging this out im sorry but i need to set up taeyong's headspace for everything to ~connect~


	6. Chapter 6

Surprisingly, Doyoung lets Taeyong lead him away with no protest, up the stairs toward Yuta's bedroom. Taeyong sits himself down on the messily-made bed, and Doyoung joins him. It reminds Taeyong of the time on the couch. Side-by-side.

"Doyoung—" Taeyong begins, but Doyoung cuts him off immediately.

"I liked you a lot, you know," Doyoung says. He doesn't look spooked anymore, just grimly serious, looking Taeyong dead-in-the-eye. That characteristic honesty gently emerges in his face like a flower in the spring-time. "What was I supposed to think, Taeyong, when you blocked me after I revealed that I had depression?" Doyoung laughs, but it comes out clipped, staccato. "Logically, I knew I couldn't've scared you off for being _too much_ —you're friends with Mark, after all. So I wasn't too worried on that front. Instead, it's that—Jungwoo said that the fact you put me in such a situation, where I bared myself in front of you, and you threw me away… even if you didn't mean it, and I know you didn't, that was selfish. It doesn't matter if it's an accident, or if you didn't have bad intentions… in the end, you must've _known_ how it would look to me, and you didn't care enough. Taeyong, you were so, so, _so_ selfish. And I don't like selfish people."

Doyoung delivers all of this so cleanly, so professionally cool that Taeyong is convinced he must've practiced it. Maybe in front of the mirror, or with Jungwoo as his audience. It's almost flawlessly cutting—trust Doyoung to be a perfectionist, even when choosing the right words to cut Taeyong into tiny, tiny little pieces. What a meticulous selection of hurt.

But he deserved it, Taeyong knew—he brought Doyoung up to apologize; it'd be embarrassingly naïve to believe that Doyoung wouldn't be angry, wouldn't be a tad cruel. Yet, for the first time, in the lowlight of the streetlamps, streaming in from the open window of Yuta's bedroom, so harsh and artificial… For the first time, Taeyong considers the fact that Doyoung may not forgive him. That Doyoung had blocked him, and intended to do it forever.

The prospect that Doyoung could be mad and _stay mad_ is overwhelming and Taeyong, who had methodically planned a speech out as well, throws his prewritten script out the window. The fear settles in because—Doyoung could actually leave him, couldn't he? Taeyong had considered it an immutable fact, that Doyoung was now a constant in his life, much like birthdays and school and even Yuta, but that was a lie. Doyoung could leave him.

"Doyoung, I'm sorry," he says, and it's so loud to his ears. Was he yelling? "I'm so sorry," Taeyong repeats, "I was so _scared,_ Doyoung, I'm sorry. I don't—I don't know what's going on with me—oh, please, please don't hate me. I don't know what I would do if you hated me, Doyoung—I was so confused, Doyoung."

Taeyong hadn't planned for the crying, but his tear ducts must've gone off script as well, for his vision went blurry, and it was so embarrassing, when his words pinch off into a sob. He felt even more pathetic when Doyoung—kind, gentle, and caring Doyoung—wrapped his arms around Taeyong's frame, and Taeyong leaned in, dirtying the front of his button-down with his tears. Even when Doyoung was angry, he cradled Taeyong like he was holding something precious. A jewel, gems, not an eighteen-year-old young man who was afraid of who he could become.

"I didn't—I was embarrassed for not knowing more about you, Doyoung," Taeyong continued, voice muffled slightly by the Doyoung's chest. Doyoung patted his back, urging all of Taeyong's secrets to come to light. "I was so… jealous of Jungwoo, I guess," he confessed, quieter this time, and he could feel Doyoung stiffen beneath his body.

"Why would you be jealous?" Doyoung whispers, both quiet and slow, as if Taeyong was a wounded animal, easily startled by any too-sudden turn of emotion.

"He knew things about you, things that I didn't—things that you weren't willing to give me, not really. I knew about how you weren't excited about college and… about your immigrant stuff, about how you didn't know how to carry around the weight of both privilege and responsibility, from the first meeting, way back when, in MLK+T—which I didn't cherish at the time, but I should've. I should've cherished the little scraps of yourself that you would give me, because they are so few and far between. I know it sounds so fucking dramatic, but—When Jungwoo gave you the alpaca, for instance, I realized that I didn't know your favorite animal—And I know it sounds so fucking stupid, okay, so don't say anything about that but—It's, like, all of our conversations were never… deep, in a way. And never about _you._ They were us bickering, or us studying together, or sometimes I ranted to you, at times, but you'd rarely return the favor. And when you brought up the fact that you're depressed, I felt blind-sided? You know? I wasn't ashamed of you, no way, it's more… _how didn't I know,_ I thought to myself before I was like, _oh, right,_ it's because you don't _tell me anything._ "

Doyoung looks like he's about to interrupt, so Taeyong raises his voice a bit, his piece still unfinished:

"It's not your fault, okay? I'm not blaming you for this, not at all, but… It was just so sad, for me—And I guess it was selfish, for me to just _leave_ with no explanation, and I felt guilty, okay, but… the guilt faded after I couldn't reply to you, and it, like, became easier to ignore the guilt with each day and, whatever, sorry, I'm not trying to make excuses… But, Doyoung, I'm sorry, but—It was so sad for me! I didn't like how I was feeling, like I was more interested in you than you were in me!"

Taeyong takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and Doyoung makes no move to speak, thankfully. Taeyong feels much lighter, now that he got all of that off his chest, and he even gently removes himself from Doyoung's hold, backing off a bit so he can properly look at Doyoung this time, and not just at the plaid patterning of his shirt, and Doyoung looks shocked—Doyoung's always been a clever man, and he must've caught onto the implication by now, shouldn't he, but Taeyong isn't done, no, not yet.

"I didn't like that I was more interested in you than the other way around and, simultaneously, I wanted to be _less interested_ or for you to be _more interested._ I was so confused, because I didn't know which one I wanted—I didn't know if I wanted you to reciprocate, or if I wanted to just crush my love entirely."

At love, the base of Doyoung's throat noticeably jumps, sudden like a hitch in the highway, but he must've been overwhelmed by the confession, Taeyong understands, for Doyoung makes no moves to address it at first.

"You could've asked," Doyoung says, instead.

"Asked what?"

"Asked me about myself," Doyoung says. "I would've told you, you know I would've. You could've asked about, like, what my favorite memory was, and so on. You could've asked."

"But that's not the _same,_ " Taeyong argues, and this point is so very important that Taeyong, unthinkingly, grips at Doyoung's shoulders. "I wanted you to tell me without my prompting! Do you know how different that is?"

"How is that different?"

"Because then it means you are _excited_ to let me know more about you. That you are willing to share yourself without my begging!"

"That really isn't begging—"

"Quick being pedantic, you fucker. You know exactly what I mean." Taeyong pouts a little, feeling a bit more light-hearted, because the shadow of a smile is curling up around Doyoung's mouth. "It's the difference between you asking someone to hang out, and someone asking _you_ to hang out. The first is, like, okay, but the second is _wow, they must really like me to take the first step._ Right?"

"And I did the second, didn't I?"

"What?"

" _I_ asked _you_ to hang out over winter break. I must've liked you a lot to take the first step, huh? Those are your words."

Was… was Doyoung _flirting_ with him? First, there was the rant, and then the cry-fest, and then now… Taeyong doesn't know how to feel, not when Doyoung's eyes are so dark. What the fuck was going on?

At Taeyong's flustered stare, Doyoung then smiled even wider, his teeth gleaming, and then kind of… stroked at the side of Taeyong's face, touch feather-light. Almost subconsciously, Taeyong relaxed a bit, leaning in. He felt so light-headed—the concept of Doyoung, straight-laced Doyoung _flirting._ With him.

"But that was when I hated myself for being interested," Taeyong protests. He was whispering now, fearful of disturbing the intimate atmosphere, his breath ghosting across Doyoung's lips, inches from his own. "Like, that was _after_ I wanted you to be reciprocate—Dude, I'm all over the place, okay?"

Doyoung laughs softly. "I can see that."

"Are you still mad?"

"A bit," Doyoung says. "But I understand you, Taeyong, I really do. I'm confused too. It's hard to be mad when I know exactly what it's like."

"How can I make it up to you then?" Taeyong suggests, enthusiastic. Maybe baking cupcakes, he was a great baker, or even macarons, even if that was far more difficult—

"I have a few ideas," Doyoung says, and then closes the space between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna add more angst but tbh i think im ready to wrap it up. i wanna focus on my original work now so... next chapter's the last and kind of an epilogue!
> 
> hope my writing style isnt too confusing lololololol pls i desire reassurance


	7. Chapter 7

It's really nice. That's all that registers with Taeyong, when Doyoung presses their lips together. He follows Doyoung's lead, and it's so _easy._ It's so nice and just… sweet and it fits the two of them, it fits this moment. In a quiet bedroom, with a party going strong downstairs, alone together in the evening.

Taeyong wonders if Doyoung can tell that he hasn't kissed anyone before. Wonders if Doyoung has ever kissed anyone before, and the thought of it—of experiencing their first kiss together—makes Taeyong giddy.

When they break apart, Taeyong asks and Doyoung looks a little guilty, unfortunately.

"My first was with Jungwoo," he confesses.

 _Of course._ Taeyong rolls his eyes and Doyoung pushes him on the shoulder gently in reprimand, laughing softly.

"It wasn't that big of a deal," Doyoung explains. "We weren't even together. It was more like _you're gay, I'm gay, let's try this out._ "

"I never tried it out with Johnny," Taeyong protests. "Or Yuta! That's not an excuse."

"Ah, it happened with Haechan too," Doyoung continues, ignoring Taeyong. "And there was also Jaehyun, but that was more serious…"

" _Haechan?!_ " Taeyong shrieks. Jungwoo and Jaehyun he could understand, but Haechan? "Oh my god, that was sexual tension! At AAC! Last year, when you two were fighting like crazy during the elections—oh my god, you _freak!_ "

Playfully, Taeyong tries to wiggle himself out of Doyoung's grasp, but Doyoung pushes him down onto the bed, nosing at his jaw, and Taeyong helplessly sinks back into his touch. He stares up at the bedroom ceiling, panting when Doyoung starts mouthing at the side of his neck. Taeyong is caged between Doyoung's knees, with Doyoung bent over him on the bed, and it's so overwhelming that Taeyong covers his face with his hands.

"You're so cute," Doyoung murmurs, absent-mindedly, from somewhere around the shell of his ear. Then he perks up, sitting back on his calves, and smiles wide, so wide. "I'm glad I'm your first kiss."

"I'm your best though, right?"

"I'll need to verify." Doyoung's eyes are glimmering as he dives back in.

\---

Half an hour later, they return to the party holding hands. Yuta whoops obnoxiously.

"That's my best friend!" He says, gesturing to Taeyong. "Go best friend!"

"Shut the fuck up," he hisses, while Johnny chimes in that everyone is well-aware that Yuta is Taeyong's best friend, which Taeyong appreciates. Johnny also mouths _nice_ and wiggles his eyebrows when Doyoung decides to claim a seat in Taeyong's lap, which Taeyong does _not_ appreciate.

"Finally I won't have to deal with his pining anymore," Haechan says, and Doyoung flips him off.

That's the last their friends have to say on the matter, thankfully, and the rest of the night passes in a flurry of Yuta's endless list of movie recommendations, playing Rich Man Poor Man in front of the television, and pretending not to notice when Jungwoo leaves the party a good three hours early—with Yuta glaring at his back, and an apologetic Mark accompanying him out.

"When are they going to fix their problems?" Taeyong whispers to Doyoung, who's still lounging in Taeyong's lap, even in the middle of playing card games.

"Why the fuck did you play the fives," Doyoung hisses instead, before sighing. "I don't know," he admits. "But let's just put the lunch tables back together when we get back to school, who cares. I'm getting tired of their bullshit."

Taeyong privately agrees, even if he remains sympathetic to Yuta. Yuta, for all of his bravado, was pretty sensitive when you got down to it. 

But then again—Doyoung beside him. As his boyfriend. During lunch… no way was Taeyong going to turn that down.

\---

Taeyong and Doyoung submit their last college applications together. It's the second of January when Doyoung submits his Cornell application in Starbucks. Afterward, Taeyong tackles him in a hug against the booth, momentarily letting go of his aversion to PDA to hold Doyoung's face in his hands, and softly peck his cheek with a _congratulations._

In the end, Doyoung decides that he’s applying to UChicago after all, despite taking the college off his list the week prior; he writes up an essay in half-an-hour before the midnight deadline.

"I didn't know that there was no application fee," he defends himself, when Taeyong pouts for days after because they didn't reach this milestone together. "If it's free, I'm shooting my shot."

Taeyong's last application comes with Penn on the fifth. It’s bright and early in the morning when he invites himself over to Doyoung's house. Doyoung still hasn’t come out to his parents, so Taeyong was warned to keep the affection to a minimum. At least he gets to hold Doyoung's hand beneath the kitchen table, hidden from his mother’s prying eyes, as Taeyong clicks submit on the last of his twenty applications. It doesn’t feel too grand in the moment, but there is this sense of a journey coming to an end.

Doyoung doesn't get to kiss him, but it's satisfying enough to bask in the warmth of Doyoung's smile.

\---

Later, Doyoung's mom leaves for work and they're cuddling in Doyoung's room when Taeyong realizes with a start that senior year is over.

"There's still a semester left," Doyoung points out.

"That doesn't count," Taeyong returns, and Doyoung readily agrees. Doyoung is much more tactile that Taeyong had initially anticipated, wrapping his limbs around Taeyong's body like a koala.

It is devastatingly cute.

"We'll know what's gonna happen in the next four years," Taeyong says. "By _March._ "

"Don't remind me." Doyoung gently bites at the skin of Taeyong's shoulder in punishment.

"That's so fucked up though," Taeyong says. "Like, technically our brains aren't fully developed yet. That’s what the guidance counselor told me. Our brains aren't developed until _twenty-one._ And this is the biggest financial investment in our lifetime."

Doyoung grumbles, then bites at his shoulder again.

"You're literally a vampire," Taeyong complains. "Bro, my mom's going to find out."

"Don't call me bro," Doyoung says petulantly, but obediently sucks on the tips of Taeyong's fingers instead.

"Okay but, like, why is the system like this, you know?" Taeyong tries not to tremble at the warmth of Doyoung's mouth. "Why are we given so much _responsibility?_ And based on three years of high school, colleges do what? They evaluate how talented we are. I spent my sophomore year in a fucking daze; I had no clue what I was doing and overloaded on extracurriculars.

"I spent sophomore year having panic attacks in the school bathrooms," Doyoung says, dryly, and Taeyong pets at his hair comfortingly. "That year went by in a blur."

After Doyoung told him that he sometimes had panic attacks in their last FaceTime session, Taeyong had learned up on how to calm him down by shooting their guidance counselor a few e-mails. It was a nice feeling to be someone that Doyoung could rely on.

"Exactly, people who figure out their interests from when they're really young have _such_ a big advantage," Taeyong continues. "Even if they're not necessarily as hard-working as a whole, you know?"

"Yeah, like I just got into competitive math," Doyoung says. "And I'm pretty good at it, and I like it but—some people have been doing it since, like, _middle school._ How am I supposed to compete with that? And it's so unfair. Maybe I would've been a superstar if I just got started earlier."

"We're _eighteen._ I don't like how stuff actually matters _._ " Taeyong shakes his head. "We're going to be committed to a college by May."

" _And maybe we won't be at the same one._ "

"Why'd you have to say that?" Taeyong turns to glare at Doyoung, who looks back at him with faux innocence, kissing at the inside of his wrist.

"Come on, Taeyong, we'll have to face reality eventually."

"I'd rather stay in fantasy-land," Taeyong insists, then rolls them over, tucking Doyoung beneath him. He kisses him soundly and starts to add a bit of tongue when Doyoung breaks away and frowns.

"You can't distract me like this." Doyoung rolls his eyes. "Just because you're that weak doesn't mean I'm the same."

"I'm not _weak._ "

"You are," Doyoung says, smiling beatifically, and Taeyong more-or-less _melts._ "You are weak to me. I like it though."

"Whatever." Taeyong lets Doyoung gently push him off so they're now sitting side-by-side on the bed, legs still tangled together.

"So, what do you want to do, Taeyong?" Doyoung asks. "If we end up at different colleges."

"Can't we figure it out when we get our results back?"

"Well, _I_ would like to try a long-distance relationship," Doyoung says, ignoring Taeyong's protests. "It's something I could actually look forward to, for once in my life. I think it's—you understand that this is a rare thing, right Taeyong? That we like each other at the same time and in the same way."

"And that we balance each other out," Taeyong agrees.

"Still, most high school relationships don't stay together."

"It's—Sometimes, it's like I want to leave this world behind. And start anew, at college. Not because I hate any of you, or anything like that—in fact, I love all of you, it's not that—"

"But you want to be a new version of yourself and the only way to do that is by hitting the restart button," Doyoung finishes for him, and Taeyong can only stare at him in awe because—Doyoung understands Taeyong, in a way that still manages to surprise him, again and again.

Like back in Yuta's bedroom, when Doyoung couldn't be that angry at Taeyong… not when Doyoung also experienced this flux of youth, the confusion of expecting too much from a relationship, yet wanting to end it entirely.

"It is a rare thing," Taeyong repeats. He's felt it in his bones for a long time—that whatever this relationship was with Doyoung, it was a special one. "That we feel the same things. Go through the same things."

"You want to try, don't you?" Doyoung asks, and there is something so uniquely hopeful in his eyes that Taeyong leans in and kisses him, long and slow. So that Doyoung could feel his love, all the way to the tips of his fingers.

"I do," he says. "I do, I do,”—and with every word, Taeyong believes it more and more and _more_ —"I want to try, Doyoung. I want to have you in my life, just like this, for as long as the world will let me."

Doyoung's answering grin is radiant when Doyoung folds Taeyong over the covers to kiss him silly. They looked good together, Taeyong observed, dizzily. Doyoung and hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end, y'all!!!!
> 
> Special thanks to SammiCass and midnightiers for continuously commenting... your excited reactions with every update are literally what pushed me across the finish line. i've actually never written anything this long before, so i needed all the motivation i could get
> 
> as always, thanks for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!


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